


The Mistranslation

by triedunture



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Come Eating, Come Marking, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Gift Giving, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Language Barrier, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mutual Pining, Outdoor Sex, Rimming, wise!Hamilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to a quirk of language, the Marquis de Lafayette thinks upon meeting General Washington that he is now his hero's adopted son.</p><p>Or: the Washington-Lafayette romcom complete with meetcute, sweet gift exchanges, a leg wound, promotions, and a final understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mistranslation

The Marquis de Lafayette smoothed his palms over his hair once more as he approached the tavern. Satisfied with the state of his queue, he turned his attention to his military coat, which Mulligan had sewn for him at Lafayette's own personal expense, and which possessed lapels that lay perfectly against his chest for all that he fiddled with them. At his side, his friend Hamilton noticed his nervous attentions and scoffed. 

"You look well, Lafayette," he said in French. "Your clothes and bearing leave nothing to be desired."

"The General is so particular in the matters of dress, I have heard," Lafayette responded. "I only wish to make an excellent first impression."

Hamilton clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll do just fine."

Lafayette attempted to exude a fraction of his friend's confidence. This was the moment he'd been waiting for since he'd left France: a chance to meet the great General Washington and join the fight for American independence. He'd read every pamphlet and newspaper he could find containing word about the man, both in his native tongue and in English—indeed, the bulk of his English tutelage had come from such articles—and found with every scrap of information, however contradictory, his interest only grew. If the papers were to be believed, Washington was a mythical hero standing nine feet tall, as wise as a prophet, as handsome as a Grecian statue, as brave as a fairytale knight, and as strong as a bear.

Whether he wanted to be him or simply be near him, Lafayette did not know.

"If my English falters, please, Hammie, do not rush to correct it," Lafayette said as they reached the tavern door. "I would rather stumble forward in my own voice then have His Excellency think someone else must speak for me."

Hamilton grasped the doorknob with a knowing smile. "It is exactly that sentiment of yours that convinces me you are a true American. General Washington will recognize it in an instant, I'm sure."

Somewhat strengthened by his friend's words, Lafayette gave a nod in thanks, and they entered the establishment together. 

The tavern was completely filled with the staff of the Continental Army and their entourage. The dark wood and low light of the lamps gave the place an air of secrecy. Men of double Lafayette's years strode about in their resplendent uniforms, tankards in hand, speaking in groups of three or four very loudly and seemingly all at once. Lafayette's ears could not parse out all their English; it was nothing more than a constant buzz of noise to him. There were ladies, too, wives and daughters perhaps, shining in their many-colored gowns, and insinuated just as fiercely in these knots of conversation, though they held smaller glasses of sherry instead of ale. They marked him with their eyes and he gave a number of bows in that direction, for he did not wish to appear ungentlemanly.

He followed Hamilton through the place to a room toward the back, where some measure of quiet could be found. Around a number of tables were seated a handful of ladies and men, the uniforms of the latter bedecked with sashes denoting their high ranks. Though Lafayette had never met any of these people before, he knew General Washington immediately. The great man sat in profile across the room, his shoulders held back, his long, powerful legs arranged in an easy spread before him, his noble head inclined slightly to listen to the man seated beside him. He nodded along with something that man whispered, sipped at his cup, then flicked his eyes to Lafayette and fastened there.

"His Excellency has been expecting you," Hamilton murmured in his ear, in English this time. "Wait here and I will see if he is able to have a word." 

Lafayette nodded and stood, trembling with excitement, as Hamilton left his side and picked his way through the tables. From across the room, Lafayette could hear nothing, but he watched as Washington held up a single finger to his companion to halt his speech as Hamilton approached. Hammie bent and said something. There was a slow, deliberate nod. His mouth, set so gallantly in that fine face, formed a single word, and Hamilton stepped aside. 

Throughout this entire exchange, General Washington had kept his eyes on Lafayette, and Lafayette found he could not look away. His pulse raced as he realized that Washington was rising, was coming over to him this very moment. The careful speech he had planned to introduce himself flew from his mind as Washington neared. The man was not nine feet tall, perhaps, but he was certainly taller than Lafayette, who was not accustomed to feeling dwarfed by anyone. He was forced to tip his head back just slightly to hold the General's gaze. 

"So you are the Marquis de Lafayette," he said in a voice that rolled like distant thunder. "Hamilton has told me much about you."

"Sir. Your Excellency." Lafayette moved by instinct, his hands clutching at those wide shoulders, and he leaned in to press a kiss first to Washington's right cheek, then his left. He removed himself from the General's person, suddenly worried that he should have offered a hand to shake instead. Yet the look on Washington's face was not appalled or even surprised, merely the same cool nobility as before. "It is an honor to meet you at last, sir," he struggled to say.

There was a long moment—or perhaps it only seemed long in Lafayette's estimation—where Washington did not speak, merely watched him closely and with great interest. Finally, he indicated a doorway off the small room with a sweep of his arm. "I should like to continue our talk in private, if that is amenable to you," he said.

Lafayette's eyes widened of their own accord, then sought out Hamilton's across the room. He had not expected more than a moment of the General's time, let alone his complete attention. He'd thought Hamilton or Laurens, some familiar face, would be present at the meeting. Hamilton caught his gaze and gave him an encouraging nod. Lafayette swallowed. 

"The pleasure is mine, Your Excellency," he said, and hoped that was the correct turn of phrase. 

The room where he was led appeared to be the General's current quarters. A large pair of supple riding boots, their spurs still attached, sat caked in mud on the floor beside the bed. Books with alien titles that Lafayette could not decipher were stacked on the small writing desk. A banyan, cut from fine blue silk of high quality, lay across the bed as if its owner had just disrobed. Lafayette averted his eyes from this last sight, certain that he was not supposed to view such intimate portions of the General's life.

"Would you care for a drink?" Washington asked, startling him from his thoughts. Lafayette watched him move to the sideboard, where a bottle of wine and several glasses stood waiting. The General began pouring himself some of the dark red vintage before Lafayette could muster a reply.

"Yes, sir. Many thanks, sir."

A second glass was filled, and Lafayette accepted it with shaking fingers. Washington gestured to two stuffed armchairs by the window, and Lafayette took the one on the right, leaving the General the better, more tactical position with his back to the corner of the room. He sipped at his wine, but did not drink deeply, for he had been too excited to eat any supper and wanted a clear head. 

"It is my sincere hope," Washington began as he seated himself, "that you will allow me to speak plainly with you tonight."

"I— I allow you anything, sir," Lafayette said. At Washington's curious look, he amended, "I am sorry, my English is still very new and I—" 

"No, no." The General waved a hand as if dismissing the notion. "Your speech is very good. Better than I would have expected, given the short time you've had to prepare. I believe your meaning is quite clear, though _I_ must apologize if I am sometimes slow in finding it." 

"Your Excellency is too kind," Lafayette murmured, and stared down into his cup of wine. He wondered if perhaps he should have insisted that Hamilton or some other speaker of French be present to translate for him. He would embarrass himself at this rate if— No, he thought with firm resolve, General Washington needed to understand how dedicated he was to his second country, and that meant conversing in the General's own tongue. "Yes, let us speak plainly, sir," he said.

Washington set aside his wine glass on a side table and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "My dear Marquis, the facts are these: with Congress holding such sway over my appointments and decisions, and so many experienced military men already in line to receive their own commands, at the insistence of that body—Congress, that is—" Lafayette nodded furiously to indicate he understood, and Washington continued. "At the insistence of that body, I must first make commanders of American men. If you expect a rank that might have been bestowed upon you in France as befits your title, I'm afraid that will be quite impossible for the moment." 

Lafayette's heart sank to his stomach. He'd come all this way only to hear His Excellency say he was not needed. "I see, sir," he said, though his throat threatened to close. He set his wine aside as well, not wanting it to spill in his trembling hand.

"This is not to say there is no place for a person such as yourself, who has come from afar to assist us in our fight," General Washington said. "Though I cannot give you a command at present, I can welcome you into my family, where I hope you will thrive, and learn, and perhaps find other ways to be of use."

Lafayette's heart leaped from his stomach straight into his mouth. Surely he'd misheard. "Your _family_ , sir?"

"Yes." Washington nodded, then reached for his wine and sipped in thought. "I would take you under my wing, so to speak, and you would live with me wherever our headquarters are established. It would be good for you, I think, as you are a young man yet, very young, if you will pardon my notice. I would have benefited greatly from such an arrangement when I was your age, for I had no one who could provide such a thing for me. Does this proposition interest you?"

The articles and pamphlets Lafayette had studied all said that Washington had been made bereft of his father at a tender age, a fact that had struck Lafayette deeply as it mirrored his own childhood. His mind raced: was the General really making such a generous offer, to adopt him as a son? And so soon after meeting him!

To be near His Excellency always, Lafayette thought, would be the closest he could ever come to his heart's content. 

"Oh, sir," he said, voice choked with emotion, "I desire nothing more. This is— This is greater than I dreamed."

Washington seemed taken aback, a crease of mild surprise forming across his brow. "Ah. Good. I was concerned that perhaps you would insist on a more formal agreement regarding your rank."

"Rank is, oh, it is nothing to compare," Lafayette said. "As I am family to you, I will serve your Army in whatever manner you think best, sir."

"Excellent." The General smiled then, small and close-lipped, but enough that it set Lafayette's heart to singing. "You are already acquainted with Hamilton and Laurens, of course; they will help guide you as well."

His brothers, yes! Hamilton, an orphan like himself. And John, who was lucky enough to have a second father now. Lafayette felt he might burst with the happiness that welled inside him. The need to express this joy was overpowering. 

"May I embrace you, sir?" he asked. Having never known a father of his own, he wasn't certain if Washington was the kind of parent who kept his children at arm's length or not, but he hoped he might be indulged this once even if it was the former. 

"I...suppose," Washington said, and rose from his chair just in time to receive an armful of the Marquis, who barreled into him and wrapped his arms around the General's substantial neck to hold him close.

"Thank you, Your Excellency," he whispered in his ear. "Thank you."

Washington's large, warm hands crept up the back of Lafayette's coat to settle on the wings of his shoulder blades. "Please, son, you are very welcome."

Son! The word lit him from within like a hurricane lamp. What exquisite pleasure, to be named so by this man. 

Lafayette extracted himself with regret that he could not stay in the circle of Washington's arms forever; a son would not wish for such things, he reminded himself. "I shall ready myself for travel directly," he said, and after they toasted to Lafayette's newfound position, Washington dismissed him from the room. 

Hamilton was waiting in the alley outside the tavern. He'd paced a small trench in the dirt. "There you are!" he cried when Lafayette emerged. "How did the General strike you? Did His Excellency offer you the post of major general?" 

"Better," Lafayette breathed, and he explained word for word what had transpired in the General's quarters. He could barely contain the tears of happiness that welled in his eyes, but Hamilton did not share in this, his intelligent face screwing up in consternation. 

"And you are pleased to be given no rank for the time being?" he asked. "I had thought—" 

"Whatever His Excellency thinks best, that I will do," Lafayette said with a firm nod. Hamilton frowned and shook his head, but did not argue. 

Weeks later, Lafayette found himself on a high ridge atop his white horse, purchased with the idea of matching as closely as possible His Excellency's own pale charger. The rolling green hills of America stretched out before him, as beautiful and wild as a children's story. The sounds and smokes of encampment rose from the valley below him, and Lafayette could see the men scurrying about like ants. He shifted in his saddle and grinned. The last few days—spent traveling with Washington and his men, dining with him, riding with him, conversing on topics large and small—these had been the best days of Lafayette's young life. 

"I am happy, Your Excellency," he said to the General, who was seated on his own mount beside him. 

"Yes, we are well-situated." Washington tipped his head west in the direction of the farmhouse that would be their headquarters for the next few months, if all went according to plan. "I've ordered a bed to be prepared for you at the house. You should rest well tonight, for there is much work to do in the morning." 

A place to sleep close to his commander-father. Lafayette's heart swelled in his chest and suddenly he could contain it no longer. "Sir, I was waiting for the correct time to bestow some small gift— Perhaps now, I think?" He reached into his saddlebag and felt around with his fingers before finding the box of rich walnut. He pulled it out and presented it in both hands to Washington, who looked at it with a slight raise of his brows. 

"It is nothing much," Lafayette rushed to say, "only a token of my great affection for you, who gave me a home here in my new country." 

Washington shot him a private smile, small but detectable, and received the box with the utmost reverence. "Such a thing is not necessary," he demurred.

"Oh, but it is," Lafayette insisted. He gestured to the gift. "Please, sir, if you would."

The General flicked open the latch on the box and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of blue velvet, were two identical saddle pistols, each chased in the most intricate silver. Lafayette had visited a gunsmith in New York before his departure from that city, and had commissioned the pistols especially for Washington. Now he watched that stoic face very closely, hoping his gift was appropriate and appreciated. 

Washington balanced the box in his lap, assisted by his saddle's pommel, and drew one pistol from its resting place. His great hands cradled the thing carefully as he turned it this way and that, examining its markings and hefting its weight. "Beautiful," he murmured. "Yet practical."

Lafayette released the breath he'd been holding. "As you say, sir. They are deadly accurate; I have tested them myself." The mostly empty bottles lined up on Hercules Mulligan's railings had not put up much of a fight.

The pistol was replaced in its box, and the box secreted into Washington's own saddlebag. "I will cherish them, Lafayette," he said, and though he was surely the recipient of many such trinkets, Lafayette believed him when he said it. "I only wish I had something to present to you as well. I had no idea we'd be exchanging gifts."

"No, sir," Lafayette protested, "it is not an exchange, or rather, it has already been completed, for you have given me a very precious thing in inviting me into your family."

"Your modesty is very pleasing to me, son," Washington said softly. His eyes flicked down to the valley below, and his horse Nelson pawed at the ground in impatience. "It is a testament to your good nature that you do not rush to claim glory faster than is prudent." 

Lafayette did not see what delayed glory might have to do with his newly adoptive father, but he supposed it was one of those uniquely American expressions he had not yet heard. "Of course I yearn for glory, Your Excellency, and to make you proud," he said, "but I will listen to you in all things, and do as you say, for I—" 

_I love you_ , sat on the tip of his tongue, but Lafayette hesitated. Did he love this man as a son should love his father, or as a lover might pine for his beloved? He was not quite sure, not anymore, and not sure if perhaps both loves could be assigned to Washington in his heart.

"Yes?" Washington pressed into the long silence.

"M-my apologies," Lafayette said. "I still do not know all of my English words. I only meant your opinion is so very dear to me, Your Excellency." He feinted with a change of topic. "However, if you do find yourself wishing to present a small token to your Lafayette, he would like very much to have your picture."

"My picture?" Washington shook his head, seemingly amused, and turned Nelson back toward the path that would take them down into camp. Lafayette followed and they traveled side by side at a leisurely pace. "If I had known my portrait would please you, I would have asked that painter to copy the work he'd done before I left town. Perhaps I could find someone to sketch my likeness in miniature. Would that do?"

A miniature! Lafayette was already envisioning its new home inside his gold pocket watch. There had been only one portrait of his parents, mouldering in the attic of his grandparents' cottage, that he had seen a mere handful of times. To own a rendering of his newly found father would be too wonderful to believe. "It would bring me the greatest pleasure, Your Excellency," he said, and he meant it. 

"Then I shall withstand the embarrassment of sitting for an artist," Washington said with easy grace, "for I do not think my portraits are very flattering, on the whole."

Lafayette assured his General that the likenesses he had seen, both here and abroad, were very good indeed, though it was true that some lacked the vitality and virtuous nature of Washington's actual face. "Such things cannot be captured by low craftsmen," he said. "And some things cannot be captured at all, even by a master. Yet as I know there may come a day when I cannot look upon your face in person if I am sent on some task far from you, then I would content myself with looking upon your face on a page." 

"Lafayette, I think your skills in English have exceeded my own. That was very prettily said." 

"Oh." Lafayette looked away into the forest to hide the pleasure that suffused his face at these words. "Thank you, sir."

Later that same day, a painter was found who could produce a small drawing in ink, and Washington sat patiently for the sketch which he then presented to Lafayette. "It seems rather pompous to gift portraits of oneself," he said, "but if you truly desire it—" 

"I do desire, Your Excellency," Lafayette said with great eagerness. 

Washington blinked twice at him and looked down at the small piece of parchment in his hand. "Then please accept it as a token of high esteem from your commander, who loves you."

Lafayette reached for the tiny portrait of Washington's majestic face, his hands shaking at the words. If his new father could declare his familial love so boldly and in the company of the artist, who was packing up his inks, and the aides-de-camp, who were arguing over some letters at the writing desk in the corner, then Lafayette felt he could follow suit, even as he heart swung in its confused arcs. "Your Lafayette, who loves you as well, thanks you for your generosity, sir," he murmured, "and prays always for your safety and happiness." 

His General laid a large hand on his epauleted shoulder then, smiling so that the corners of his eyes crinkled with charming warmth. "You will soon surpass us all with your poetry if you are not careful, Lafayette. Even Hamilton will not be able to match your words."

Upon hearing his name, Hamilton's head shot up from the knot of aides. "Did you call, sir?" he asked. 

"No, Hamilton. As you were," Washington said, and Lafayette shared a laugh with him, an even more precious and rare gift than the miniature he held in his hands. It occurred to Lafayette then that, as General Washington's adopted son, any intimacy he might enjoy with the great man would raise no suspicions. It would be only natural to show his affection to his newfound father, and the General himself seemed very charmed by his demonstrations thus far. He could be a model son, he reasoned, so long as he was careful and did not allow himself to feel more than familial toward his General.

And yet how could he contain his blushes and gooseflesh when Washington placed a guiding hand on his elbow while they walked through a muddy patch of earth? How could he slow his rapidly beating heart when Washington began to instigate their greetings à la parisienne, his lips warm and dry on Lafayette's cheeks? How could he refuse the nightly discussions over glasses of madeira in front of the fire in Washington's quarters, where the talk turned from work and war to their dreams of peacetime, to stories of Washington's beloved Mount Vernon? All this, of course, while he learned at the feet of a true master. Every day they pored over maps, Washington patiently teaching him the art of tactical planning, and Lafayette making suggestions, a few of which the General took quite seriously and even put into practice. 

It was during one of these sessions that Lafayette commented on the pleasing cologne Washington wore, a mixture of lemon peel and cloves, and the next week he received a package from Philadelphia containing a dozen bottles of the stuff. "You expressed how much you admired the scent, I recall," Washington told him when asked about the gift. "I only thought you might enjoy wearing it yourself from time to time."

Lafayette dared not wear the cologne, for such a thing would be a daylong distraction, but used a drop or two every so often on his bed linens, particularly his pillows, so that his dreams might be of Washington, and his warm skin, and his eyes crinkled with good humor. These were certainly not the actions of a normal son, but the scent calmed him so, and sent him so swiftly into a deep, comfortable sleep that he couldn't find it in him to cease the practice. It was innocent enough, he felt, to find solace in a father's imagined embrace.

His dreams grew and lengthened, and so did his love.

A few days later, following a visit from the camp barber, Lafayette gifted Washington with a lock of his hair bound in a bow of blue silk. Such a thing was customary, he'd heard, for children to give to their parents in times of war. (Lovers, too, his treacherous mind whispered, and Lafayette ignored it.)

Washington held the beautiful dark curl in the palm of his hand. "Ah! And how will I answer this gift when I have none of my own for you to treasure?" He looked up at where Lafayette sat astride his horse, as he was preparing to leave camp to bear messages to a garrison some miles to the south.

"My gifts never need an answer from you, sir," Lafayette said, and, bending to lift Washington's hat, placed a farewell kiss upon his shorn pate. Such a thing was not unheard of between fathers and sons, he thought with quiet desperation. And anyway, this was the first night he'd be away from his new family since he'd come to them, so a little emotion was not too strange. The hat he dropped back down as if to contain his kiss upon his beloved commander. Washington suffered these antics with an indulgent smile. 

"Ride hard, son, and return as swiftly as possible." Sobriety returned to his face, which was increasingly careworn. "I may have need of you soon, and as many other good men as I might muster."

Lafayette did as ordered, pausing only a few moments to water his horse at a stream and look upon the miniature in his pocket watch. His task was easy enough to complete; he delivered the messages and rode back early the following morning. 

It was a lucky thing he did, for word reached them of General Howe's movements and Washington ordered the main body of his army to march toward Brandywine to meet the enemy. "Stay close to me," Washington told Lafayette as they rode together at the head of the column. "Do not stray; the heat of battle is enough to dizzy any man, let alone one who has never seen action."

"I will follow your instructions in this as in all things, Your Excellency." Lafayette chose his words with care, knowing that his commander abhorred outright lies. Lafayette _would_ follow his orders, but surely such things could be interpreted widely. Especially, as they say, in the heat of battle.

When the artillery fired, when the smoke and dust formed a thick cloud around them, when Stirling and Sullivan's scouts shouted contradictory reports above their heads, Lafayette turned in his saddle to regard his Washington. Not a monument, no, not marble as some men called him. He was alive and moving, seemingly everywhere at once, calling out his orders in a steady, calm voice, but booming to be heard over the guns. A hundred pieces of the battle's puzzle held his attention, and so Lafayette dared ask, "May I ride ahead, sir, and observe Sullivan's situation for myself?"

"Yes, but be quick," Washington said, distracted, and Lafayette spurred his charger toward the line before his General could reconsider.

Here the battlefield was choked with smoke, littered with felled trees and bodies alike, which Lafayette was careful to avoid on his horse. Shouts in an English he could not understand came from all directions. From the dark, shapes ran toward him, and Lafayette unsheathed his saber before he could register they were American troops. 

"Why do you retreat?" he called to them. "That order was not given!"

The men gave him no answer, merely stumbled in all directions, a seething, confused mass. Lafayette gritted his teeth. Where was their commanding officer? 

"Very well," he murmured, "so it shall be Lafayette." He dismounted and grabbed at the sleeve of the nearest soldier, halting his progress. "Back to the line!" 

"But—" the soldier sputtered. 

"Back!" Lafayette slapped the man on his thigh with the flat of his sword, and this finally jolted him toward the proper place. "All of you, back!" Lafayette shouted above the din, and took hold of another runner by his shirt collar. "We are to hold here!" 

Somehow, through force of sheer will—and the judicious use of his saber's flat—Lafayette corralled the men back into their places, and he stood with them, shoulder to shoulder. He sheathed his sword, called for a gun, and someone placed it in his hands. The Hessians and Redcoats opened fire, and still the Americans stood their ground, and replied in kind. 

His blood buzzed in a way it had not since his midnight escape from France. This was a place of belonging, he knew. A place where he could be of use to his beloved. His beloved father. 

Lafayette did not look away from the enemy line until a hand closed around his shoulder. He turned to find his friend John Laurens beside him. 

"The General has given the order to fall back to support the left wing," he said. "Greene's division will shield us." A streak of blood, not his own, Lafayette prayed, marred his face and neck. 

"My horse," he said, and realized that the poor animal had probably been lost in the confusion. He took a step and felt his knees buckle. 

It was only Laurens' quick reflexes that saved him, as he held Lafayette in his arms. "My god, your leg!" 

Lafayette looked down at his left boot and perceived a lengthy trickle of blood gushing from a bullet hole in the dark leather. "Ah," he said, "I've been shot. I didn't feel it, I—" 

Laurens hooked an arm under his. "We must go. Fall back!" he cried to the men, and all down the line, the order was relayed in the shouts of a dozen voices.

They found a horse—not Lafayette's, but some other riderless charger—and Laurens hoisted him onto it. "Ride to Chester," he said, and ripped a portion of cotton from the hem of his own shirt to knot around Lafayette's wound as a makeshift bandage. "I will meet you there." And he smacked the horse on the rump to send it on its way before Lafayette could protest. 

The scrap of Laurens' shirt was soaked through with blood by the time Lafayette's horse plodded across the bridge to their safe haven. Lafayette saw ahead of him, but dimly as his eyes slipped further closed, Washington standing in the misting rain, conversing with his major generals. Someone must have signalled his approach, for the company turned as one to gasp at his appearance. He knew in some distant way that he must look a sight, streaked in grime and blood as he was, his reins held limply in his slack hands. Washington would not be pleased with the picture he made.

"Lafayette?" Washington said, and his voice tore through what little strength remained in him.

"Sir, I apologize for the state of my uniform," he murmured, reeling in his saddle. "By your leave, I will seek fresh clothes before making my...report on the…the…." 

A sweet darkness closed in then, and Lafayette felt himself fall into strong, warm arms, heard his General's voice calling for his physician, and then nothing.

After a time, Lafayette found himself in a place between wakefulness and slumber, where he could not distinguish between his dreams and the truth. He heard voices speaking in hushed tones, one small and soothing, the other loud and broken while it pleaded. He felt himself laid out on a table like a feast, and he laughed, begging the assembled party—who appeared to him as a dozen Washingtons—not to eat him up. He then saw the endless fields of his childhood home in the French countryside, could smell the sweetness of spring on the wind. He felt General Washington's arms around him once more, and shuddered. 

"The pain is not so great," he said, or tried to, for it was one of those dreams where one cannot act as one wishes, stuck like a fly in honey. "Only hold me, father. Just hold me to you." 

"Lafayette," said that beloved voice, both warm and cold at the same time. Both loud and soft. Such are dreams. 

"Father," Lafayette struggled to say. To think. "Papa—" And he shivered to feel Washington's great hands upon his body, searching his flesh and finding wonderful expanses of it to touch in ways that Lafayette knew he should not want. He felt himself falling down a deep and damp well, and he welcomed it because he knew, somehow, that in there his secrets would be safe. He was nearly at the bottom, almost there, the ground rushing to meet him— 

Lafayette awoke with a start. He cast his gaze around and saw he was surrounded by white canvas walls and swaddled in white sheets. His narrow cot was the only one in the tent. Ah, so he merited a private sick room? That was pleasing.

A soft sound rose from his right and Lafayette looked down to find Washington himself sitting on a camp stool at his bedside, his head pillowed on his arms upon Lafayette's thin mattress. He was asleep, and sighed every so often in that sleep. 

What a shock, to see the man he'd just envisioned in such depraved ways keeping vigil like the most stalwart of fathers might. How low Lafayette felt in that moment! Washington was a pure, virtuous man, the greatest he'd ever known, and he sullied him and his kind gestures with— With whatever it was that tormented his heart. 

No more, Lafayette decided. He could not let those base feelings overcome him. Even now, lying in pain in his sickbed, he would have to be stronger. 

"Sir," he croaked, and reached out to brush his fingertips against Washington's arm. "Sir, I am returned." 

At just that faint touch, Washington was awake, his head whipping up and his hands bracing on the bed. "Lafayette," he said in a sleep-laden whisper. The General's face was creased with worry, and he clasped Lafayette's weak hand in his. "Thank God you're—" His face hardened. "Colonel Laurens informed me of your actions at the front of the line." 

"Yes, sir." Lafayette attempted to sit up but the hole in his leg chose that moment to make itself known. He gave a surprised gasp of pain but continued. "The men, they were scattered when I came upon them. I acted as quickly as I—" 

"You deliberately stepped into the fray knowing that I wanted to keep you from it," Washington barked, a barely restrained shout. His brow was drawn and dark, and for the first time in their acquaintance, Lafayette feared his temper. "Do you have any idea what thoughts plagued me when I realized you were missing?" 

"I did not intend to cause you such distress, Your Excellency," Lafayette mumbled, and his hand shook in Washington's fierce hold. Would he be sent back to France in disgrace, then? "I only wished to carry out your orders to hold that line. Did I not acquit myself well on the field?"

Washington sighed, laid Lafayette's hand gently upon the bedsheets, and rubbed at his shadowed eyes with the tips of his fingers. "You did, son. You acted correctly, and with bravery. The men's spirits are certainly buoyed; they are calling you a hero." Lafayette breathed out in relief. "But I told you, your place was at my side," Washington added, and his voice was no longer angry, but desperately sorrowful. "Lafayette, you have the makings of an excellent commander, and I am aware that you cannot grow into that role if I keep you trapped in the aides' tent. I must let you fly alone, and give you men to lead." 

Now Lafayette did sit up despite the pain in his leg. "Sir! A command? Of my very own?" 

Washington held up a large palm. "Yet I must be sure that you will listen to me when I advise you, that you will not plunge into battle frothing for your chance at medals and commendations. You have such a long military career ahead, son, and so many opportunities to secure glory. I have only one Lafayette." Tears gathered in his eyes as he said this, and Lafayette's chest ached as much as his leg. He thought how it might be for him if their positions were reversed, and Washington had been wounded. Yes, he too would be inconsolable.

"I am so sorry, sir," he said. "Can you forgive me? I swear I will not act so rashly again." 

"Yes you will," Washington said simply. "And I will have to forgive you then, too." 

A father's love, Lafayette thought with tears in his own eyes. How lucky he was. And how very unlucky that he wanted more than this. 

He laid his hand atop Washington's own on his bedsheet and they sat there in silence for a long moment until at last Lafayette fell back into an exhausted sleep.

It was decided once Lafayette had healed enough that he should travel to Philadelphia to meet with Henry Laurens and the rest of Congress to report on the state of the army as the General's envoy. "When you return in the fullest of health," Washington promised, "I will grant you your first command. A thousand men in your own Light Division, as you have so often proposed." He embraced Lafayette in farewell, and Lafayette ignored whatever heat such a gesture stoked within him.

He rode south with his injured leg wrapped in a blanket, as his boot would not fit over his bandages. Despite that small indignity, he felt he was the picture of a good son. His mission to Congress would prove his use off the battlefield as well as on it. Lafayette committed himself to representing his adopted father with honor and grace. 

He was invited to stay at the Philadelphia residence of Henry Laurens, first father to his friend John. The man had all of John's looks if not his good nature, for he could be quite prickly. Yet Lafayette felt he must show the proper respect, as this was not only his friend's father, but also his father's friend. 

"You look well for a man who's caught a bullet in his limb," the older Laurens said as they shook hands upon Lafayette's arrival.

"Any wellness I exhibit is thanks to your son. He kept me from danger after the battle," Lafayette replied. "Though you did not know me at the time and could not have fathomed the importance of the event to me, I congratulate you on his creation."

President Laurens, being very charmed by this, laughed heartily and slapped Lafayette across his back. "Well, if John accomplishes nothing else, at least there is this," he said, which Lafayette thought rather uncharitable, but held his tongue out of courtesy. 

They shared a pleasant supper with many distinguished guests who gathered in honor of the Hero of Brandywine, and later Lafayette and the President retired to the sitting room to have a drink in private. Having exhausted most political and military topics during the meal, the two of them turned to more mundane pleasantries. 

"My thanks once again," said Lafayette, "for welcoming me into your home, sir."

President Laurens waved a careless hand. "It is nothing. Members of General Washington's military family are always welcome at my door."

What a strange way to describe the family, thought Lafayette, for although they did serve together, surely their bond was greater than that experience. He elected to ignore Laurens' choice of words, instead saying, "Yes, I am sure your hospitality pleases my father greatly." 

"Father?" The President gazed at Lafayette over the rim of his brandy snifter. "I had heard your father was killed in battle. Prussia, was it?" 

Lafayette frowned. "My first father, yes. I was referring to…." 

"Dear Lord!" Henry Laurens chortled and slapped his thigh, nearly spilling his drink. "You call the General your father?" 

"Of course." Lafayette felt himself growing hot under his stocks and cravat. "I have thought of him so ever since we first met, when he offered me a place in his family." The thought that perhaps this man had been spared the truth that he shared his son with another (and in Lafayette's opinion, more worthy) father, crossed his mind. He felt pity for the President then. 

The feeling did not last. "My dear boy," Henry Laurens said, "I believe you have been the victim of our English language. You actually thought the word meant family in the literal sense!" He shook his head. "It is merely a phrase, sweet Marquis, used in the armies here and in England, to describe a group of trusted officers. It has nothing whatsoever to do with familial ties." 

Though Lafayette had only ever felt a bullet in his leg, and even then had not noticed it much, he was now certain he knew what a bullet in the chest must feel like. His heart was wounded terribly, and trembled with dread. 

"I am...not understanding correctly?" he struggled to say. (In times of great strain, his fine English still deserted him.) "The General, he has not named me his adopted son?" 

"Oh, he might hold some fondness for you. Certainly he trusts you." President Laurens sipped his brandy. "He would not place so much on your shoulders otherwise. But, my word! To labor under the misapprehension that he has made you his heir! It is a good thing I am here to correct you, Lafayette, or else you may have acted foolishly indeed."

Lafayette's face burned in shame. He had already acted so very, very foolishly. 

"Ha, so you are right," he said, managing a weak smile. Then, clutching his leg and rubbing a palm along the back of his calf, "This cursed wound, it is causing me such a pain tonight. It flares sometimes." 

"Oh, shall I send for a physician?" Henry Laurens asked.

"No, it will bother me only for a little while. I should rest in bed, if I will not offend you in retiring?" 

President Laurens graciously permitted Lafayette's early exit, and Lafayette retreated to the room that had been prepared for him. It was a good room with a wide bed, and his baggage had already been unpacked for him. His things were right where they should be, down to the tiny bottle of scent awaiting him next to the washbasin. He'd packed the cologne that morning thinking to enact his usual nightly ritual: a few drops on his pillow so that he might inhale the smell of General Washington while he slept. Now the act seemed like a pathetic farce for a relationship that did not exist. 

Lafayette closed his hand around the bottle of scent, feeling the sharp edges of it bite into his palm. He wished he could throw the damn thing into the fireplace. Watch it shatter. But then the entire room would smell of Washington, and how would Lafayette find sleep then? 

He undressed completely, not even bothering with his finely made nightshirt, and crawled between the bedsheets as bare as a babe. Tears threatened, born of anger. How could he have made such a blunder? He'd pretended to be Washington's son for months. Had Washington stifled chuckles at his adoring airs and silly gifts? Did he laugh about Lafayette's strange antics with the others when Lafayette was not there to hear? 

No, he chided himself. Washington was a gallant man; he would never be so callous as to mock and gossip. It was much more likely that he was privately embarrassed by those inappropriate gestures, and was too much a gentleman to rebuff them. Lafayette buried his face in his pillow at the thought. How could he make this right, having so long been in the wrong?

The General is not your parent, Lafayette told himself.

He is not your beloved.

He is your leader, and you will approach him with respect and solicitude from this moment onward. Nothing more than that. 

Sleep eluded him for long stretches that night, and when Lafayette awoke, he felt a ghost of his usual vivacious self. He endured Philadelphia and its work, writing no letters to Washington save for the most businesslike of missives. He rode back to camp at a reluctant pace after his tasks were discharged. 

It was late when he reached the main army's encampment. The valley was quiet, its few flickering fires shrinking in the night air. General Washington greeted him on foot at the river that bounded the southern perimeter, his eyes shining in the light of the waxing moon. Lafayette girded himself and dismounted. The nearest guardpost was many yards away, the fire a mere pinprick in the dark. Not another soul seemed to stir on the riverbank.

"Welcome home, my boy," Washington said with arms outstretched. Lafayette did not step into the harbor of those arms, knowing that if he did, Washington would kiss his face as he had in the past, and Lafayette could not survive such a charade now. 

He gave instead a very formal nod, his hand never leaving its resting place atop the guard of the ceremonial saber that hung at his hip. "Thank you, Your Excellency. I have brought many letters from Philadelphia. Would it please you to receive those and my own report now?"

Washington's brow furrowed and his arms dropped to his sides. "That will keep until the morning, I think." He tilted his head as if in thought. "You must be tired from your journey. Come, I have some fairly decent wine in my room." He began to turn toward the farmhouse that served as their headquarters, and Lafayette's heart gave a sharp pang. 

Their late-night talks over madeira were at an end now that he had resolved to be a soldier to Washington and nothing more. 

"Actually, sir," he said, arresting Washington's movements, "I believe the ride has fatigued me, as you say. I should like to find sleep if Your Excellency has no work for me at the moment." 

Washington's eyes searched Lafayette's face as if looking for the hidden truth, but Lafayette stood as still as stone, his own gaze flitting to some distant point beyond Washington's shoulder. "No, of course. You need your rest," he said at last. "I will have a bed prepared for you in the chamber across from mine."

To be so near to what he could not touch! It would be torture. "No need, Your Excellency," Lafayette said in a rush. "I would not wish to indispose the officers currently housed there. I plan to pay for some rooms at the tavern." It was not so unusual for officers with funds to spare to do so, to ensure they were not stacked four deep in a bed in headquarters. In truth, Lafayette should have subscribed to such an arrangement since the very beginning of his service, but fool that he was, he'd wanted to be close to Washington at all times. 

This change in routine seemed to further disturb the General. "Are you certain? It is no trouble to shift around a few of the men. I know Hamilton and Laurens would gladly give up their bed for you, what with your injury. Does your wound still pain you?" He looked down at Lafayette's leg, which was now out of its bandages and in his riding boot.

"No, sir," Lafayette said stiffly. "I feel nothing at all." The words, though falsehoods, would soon be true enough. He prayed they would, at least.

"I see." Washington rested his own hand atop his sword hilt, mirroring Lafayette's aloof posture. "Well. If you are not coming tonight to headquarters, I shall speak to you in the morning."

"If Your Excellency wishes to hear my report then, so be it." He bowed his head, offered a very sharp salute, mounted his horse, and rode onward through camp toward the tavern. He didn't dare look back, for he did not wish to see the General standing alone in the night, gazing after him.

They continued in this vein for some weeks, with Lafayette refusing with great politeness any gesture of intimate friendship that General Washington so graciously offered. The man was only attempting to help him save face, he reasoned, and his pride stung with the certainty of it. And even if the General did wish to go back to the familiarity they had shared, Lafayette knew such a thing would be ill-done. It would be the basest trickery to allow Washington to think their relations so innocent, so unsullied by what Lafayette wanted. 

There was no time to mourn for what was lost, however. Lafayette threw himself into his work, for there was more than enough to occupy his mind in organizing his Light Division. The change in his demeanor was enough to warrant Hamilton's notice, for his friend sat with him one hot night beside their campfire and said, "Has there been some disagreement between you and His Excellency? I do not mark you enjoying his company as you were wont to do before." 

"There is no disagreement," Lafayette said, and sipped his ration of rum. "I am perfectly aligned with everything His Excellency thinks."

Hamilton frowned. "I do not see the truth in that. The General has never seemed to me as despondent as he is now. Surely he would prefer—" 

"We cannot always have what is preferred," Lafayette snapped. Immediately he regretted the uncharitable remark and Hamilton's answering look of reproach. "Apologies, my dear Hammie," he said. "Only, it has been brought to my attention that I had been perhaps overly familiar with His Excellency, and I endeavor to correct my behavior. It has not been an easy thing."

"Who has said this to you?" Hamilton's shrewd face pinched in thought. "John's father?" Ah, his friend was too cunning by half. 

Lafayette waved his cup through the air. "It makes no difference who did the telling." He neglected to detail the extent of his embarrassment, for even with a friend so intimate as Hamilton, he wished to preserve his pride.

"Lafayette, the elder Laurens knows nothing of His Excellency's private moods or else he would not have chided you. This strain between you and the General cannot be borne. I beg you, make peace with His Excellency and restore your mutual attachment, for it has done you both a world of good." 

"Has it?" Lafayette cast a sorrowful glance at Hamilton, then dropped his gaze back to their fire. "You do not welcome General Washington's friendship, I've noticed. Yet you tell me I must?"

Hamilton shook his head. "I respect His Excellency; I offer him counsel. For me to keep him at a distance is only proper. But you—" He stared at Lafayette, his head tilting in thought. "It is different with you. At first I thought it was your homeland's Gallic influence that caused you to be so effusive in your affections for him. But I think now it is because you are Lafayette, and His Excellency needs his Lafayette as you need him." 

Lafayette swallowed the last of his rum and stood. Hamilton was too near the truth, and he did not wish to listen to it. "You must be drunk on your ration," was all he said before stalking away to his rented rooms. They did not speak of it again. 

Then came Monmouth.

The battle was chaotic from the start. Lafayette watched Lee's confused retreat through his spyglass, his horse pawing impatiently at the grass on a hillock some distance from the skirmish. "What in hell is happening?" Lafayette muttered to himself.

Hamilton provided his answer, riding up on his chestnut gelding, his hair escaping from his queue in his rush. "Lafayette! Lee has lost control of the main body. General Washington has ordered you to lead the men." 

Lafayette's foolish heart stopped in his chest. The General was placing the fate of the entire army in his hands? Did the man's trust in him know no bounds? 

There was no time for such idle musings. He snapped his spyglass shut and tucked it back into the inner pocket of his cutaway coat. "Why not?" he said, and spurred his horse into the battle. 

An outright win against the British was made impossible due to Lee's bungling, but Lafayette was able to at least guide his forces to a draw. They limped home after sundown, when it became clear the redcoats were scuttling away as well. The night was a sleepless one for Lafayette, who would not rest while his soldiers were still on their feet. There was so much to do. He did not lay eyes on General Washington until well after dawn, when the man appeared on his white horse without a trace of the dust or grime of the battlefield about his face. 

"Lafayette," he called, and Lafayette looked up from the map that he and Hamilton had been studying. "A moment of your time, if you would."

Hamilton shot him a knowing look and rolled up the map in his hands, departing with a nod. Lafayette stifled a curse. "Of course, Your Excellency."

The General dismounted and led him on foot away from the heat and bustle of the camp. Lafayette soon found himself in a clearing surrounded on all sides by leafy oaks. Tall yellow grasses waved in the slight breeze and brushed their waists as they walked through them. 

"I wanted to congratulate you on yesterday's outcome," Washington said, turning at last to face Lafayette. 

"A stalemate, sir? That hardly merits congratulations," Lafayette said. 

Washington scanned the treeline with his drawn eyes. He looked as exhausted as Lafayette felt, for all that his uniform appeared unrumpled. "It could have been much worse," he said. "Your actions may have saved us."

"Thank you, Your Excellency. It is a pleasure to serve." He avoided the General's gaze when it fell on him. A red bird darted through the brush, and he watched it go. 

"Have you managed to rest at all since?" Washington asked. 

Lafayette shook his head, suddenly conscious of the stale sweat and dust that clung to his clothes. There had been no chance to even eat in the past day. "I apologize for my appearance, sir," he murmured. 

"No need. You give no offense. Although—" Washington gestured vaguely to his own faultless brow. "There is a bit of dirt— Here, allow me." And he removed his handkerchief from his pocket and moved as if to wipe the grime from Lafayette's face like a parent might for a unruly child. 

Lafayette shied away from the touch. "Sir, please," he said, and, not knowing for what exactly he was pleading, did not finish his sentence. 

Washington's hand fell back to his side, white handkerchief dangling. They stood there in silence for a long moment, Lafayette with his eyes fixed on the trees, the weight of Washington's own gaze heavy upon him. 

"You have avoided me," Washington finally said, "ever since you returned from Philadelphia. What have I done, Lafayette, to drive you away?"

"Nothing, sir." Lafayette swallowed. The pain in his General's voice! He could not bear to hear it. He rubbed a hand over his brow, his palm coming away with a streak of grime. "It is nothing."

"Is it the pressures of your new command?" Washington took a step closer. He stuffed his handkerchief away in his pocket and held out a hand to Lafayette. "There is no shame in it. You should confide in me, for I understand—" 

Lafayette retreated one step backward. "No, sir. It is not that."

"Then tell me the reason!" Washington did not often raise his voice, but when he did, it boomed like thunder, shaking Lafayette to his bones. He understood now why the General had led him to such a remote place. "Speak, and let me know the truth! Do you not love me as you once did?"

"Sir, I do," Lafayette choked out, all while staring at his boots. Damn this language, he thought as hot tears threatened his eyes. How could there be a word that might mean a thousand differents things? And how could this man inspire in him all one thousand ways of loving? "I have always— From the moment we met, I have— Please, I do not know how to say it, I cannot—" 

A beat of horrible silence, then: "Oh, Lafayette." Washington's voice was soft now, and his rough palm came to cup Lafayette's heated face. Lafayette struggled to look away, but that hand guided his chin up so that he was looking into the yearning eyes of his commander. "My dearest boy. Are you really giving me such a gift?"

He called this curse a gift? There must be some mistake. "You don't understand," Lafayette whispered. "You would not want this love of mine if you knew."

"But I do. I think I must." Washington leaned close, his lips brushing the hot shell of Lafayette's ear as he breathed the word that would be their undoing. " _Son_." 

"Oh god." The words were groaned out in French as Lafayette's English left him. His eyes slipped shut. In his chest, his heart pounded out a triumphant drumbeat. How could this be, that his General knew his soul so completely? That his love, his strange love, was returned? 

He felt Washington's hands resting on his narrow hips, urging him closer. "Am I correct in this?" Washington asked. "I must hear it from your lips, if I am to make love to you." His mouth fell to Lafayette's lean neck, urgent in its ministrations. 

Dear Lord, Lafayette prayed, if this was a dream let him sleep forever! He wrapped his strong arms around Washington though it was not possible to be any closer than they already were. Their bodies were flush, a building heat between them even through the layers of their clothing. "Please, yes, I want to have you forever," Lafayette said, and he kissed the General with all the banked adoration that lay in his heart. 

"Come, I would look upon you," Washington said into the hollow of his throat, and Lafayette made a noise of desperate assent. Thick fingers tangled in his neckcloth, unraveling its knots. 

"What, here?" Lafayette jerked his head up and looked about. The meadow was closely hemmed in by the trees, yet anyone could wander into the clearing and find them.

"The others are occupied for the moment. We might never have a better time to be alone," Washington said. "Please, I must worship every inch of you. I want you to leave this place bearing fresh marks of my affection on your skin."

"Sir, no. It should be your Lafayette who lavishes you with adoration. Although—" Lafayette mustered the reserves of his strength to pull away the slightest fraction, turning from Washington and giving him his back. He wrapped his own arms about himself to keep from shaking. 

"What is the matter?" Washington cupped his shoulders in his hands, pressed his lips to the nape of his neck, just below the tuft of his queued hair. 

Lafayette shivered. "There is so much talk of French passion," he said, "as if I and my countrymen all innately understand the art of lovemaking. But I— I do not know how I should seduce you, though I want to. Quite badly."

A low laugh, not unkind, puffed warmly on the back of his bare neck where his stocks had been stripped away. "Lafayette, you have already seduced your commander very thoroughly. You had only to be as you naturally are. Please, let me care for you?" His hands gripped his cutaway coat and slowly peeled it down Lafayette's arms, and Lafayette allowed it. 

"But your own pleasure—" Lafayette gasped as Washington pressed himself firmly to his backside. He could feel the stiff hardness of him there against the swell of his ass. 

"Will be seen to in time." Washington dropped Lafayette's coat into the grass and then reached around him once more to unbutton his fine waistcoat, all while kissing along the bristle of his jaw. "Now. I want you bare for me."

It all fell to the ground in a heap: the waistcoat and shirt, the riding boots and spurs, the saber in its jeweled scabbard, the breeches and stockings. Lafayette's fine clothes made a nest on the tall grasses, and it was upon this that Washington laid him. He caged Lafayette's naked body with his still-clothed one and stared down at him as if witnessing a miracle. His cloak he unclasped from his throat and bundled it under Lafayette's head as a pillow, but that, along with the hat he tossed aside, were his only concessions in the matter of undress. 

"You are perfectly made," he said, and fit a hand to Lafayette's lean flank. "Heaven preserve me. I could die for the curve of your bare shoulder or the sweep of your eyelashes when you look down with perfect modesty. How is it possible that you are mine?" 

"Careful, sir," Lafayette said, allowing his eyelashes to do as Washington described. "You border on poetry."

Washington kissed him deeply, a slow and careful thing. "Forgive an old man his foolishness," he said when they parted. "He only loves you more than he thought possible."

"I understand. It is the same with me," Lafayette said, and framed that noble face with his hands to draw him into another kiss. The grass danced around them in the wind, tall enough to tower over their heads. Lafayette could almost believe they were the only two men left in the world. 

Washington released the ribbon from Lafayette's hair and watched him with heavy-lidded eyes as it haloed around his face. Lafayette, who did not like to appear before the General in anything less than impeccable dress, shifted uneasily on his scattered clothes. He could feel the press of stones and poking grasses along his bare back. But the look in his commander's eyes quelled any worries that rolled through his stomach.

"How is it possible?" Washington repeated, and began traveling down Lafayette's body, using his hands and mouth to find his way. Lafayette soon learned what it was to be the object of Washington's loving attentions. The man was meticulous in this as he was in all things. Lafayette gasped and arched his spine at the first touch of a hot tongue to his chest, at the sensation of strong, thick fingers curling over his hips. The General had meant what he said about claiming every inch of Lafayette's body, for he spared no spot. He brought Lafayette's hands to his lips and nipped at each fingertip, nosed through the fine wiry hairs on his thighs, lifted his leg to press a kiss to the back of his knee. It seemed every part of Lafayette was attended to save for his leaking cock, which curved neglected against his stomach and shook with every discovery Washington made. 

"S-sir," Lafayette stuttered as Washington licked along the muscled line of his arm. He was losing all his words in the face of this onslaught. "Please, _père_." 

"Ah," Washington sighed across his skin. He buried his face in the crook of Lafayette's neck, inhaling sharply. "That word I know. Say it again, my dear boy."

" _Père_ ," Lafayette said, bolder this time. "Your boy needs you, Papa, please." 

Washington's groan resounded through him. "You are so good for me. I will give you all the pleasure you deserve." And he moved down the long length of Lafayette's body, his breath ghosting along his skin as he went. Lafayette could feel the heat of his panting mouth above his stiff cock, and he strained upward, trying to capture any touch he could get. 

But General Washington moved lower still and slid his hands under the backs of Lafayette's soft thighs. His dark eyes flashed upward and met Lafayette's, which were squinting down at him in some confusion. Washington merely made himself comfortable in the space there. He coaxed Lafayette's knees up and over his own shoulders. "Your leg, does it hurt like this?" he asked in sincere concern. 

Lafayette shook his head. "There is no pain any longer," he said. "But what are you—?"

"Patience," Washington said, and lowered his mouth to Lafayette's most intimate point. 

The cry came out in French, a bitten-off curse. Lafayette tipped his head back, eyes squeezed tightly shut. His hands flew to his beloved General's head, cupping the smooth curve of his skull in his palms to keep him close. Not that Washington seemed ready to retreat from his place between Lafayette's legs; if anything, he made a quiet rumble of pleasure against his hole and licked with ever more force. The flat of his tongue, so very wet, laved there again and again, and Lafayette feared he would lose his mind at the sight. 

His legs spread wider even as he worried about how he might taste for General Washington. He had not had an opportunity to bathe— 

"You are doing so well for me," Washington murmured against his stones before lapping one into his mouth. He released it, soaking, to the sounds of Lafayette's whimpers. "That's it, son." 

Hearing his commander's praise had always caused Lafayette great pleasure, and now that pleasure was magnified a hundredfold. His hips canted up into thin air, his cockstand dribbling along his belly as he pleaded in two languages for his General's merciful touch. 

Washington gently removed Lafayette's legs from his shoulders and rose onto his knees to better bend over him, and his mouth finally brushed the shaft of Lafayette's cockstand. One massive hand wrapped around the base of the thing, and Lafayette looked past that beautiful sight to find Washington's other hand working at the front of his breeches. His mouth watered at the sight of his member: thick, dark, large and curved downward with its own heaviness. 

"I could—" he began, but Washington let his cock slip from his lips long enough to say, "I will see to myself. You need only enjoy what I'm giving to you." 

"I am," Lafayette gasped as Washington's mouth returned. He let his head fall back against the bundled clothing. "Oh, I am. Y-you will make me spend—" 

One last hard suck, and Washington transferred his lips to the sharp cut of Lafayette's hip, where he bit a small red mark onto the skin there. His hand, slick with Lafayette's wetness, massaged over the length of him. "Finish for me," he growled, "all over yourself." And he loomed over Lafayette so that he could see the General fisting his own cock with the same urgent speed. 

Oh, to feel Washington come off upon his body! Lafayette closed his eyes with a little noise of surprise and found his end in Washington's hand. His cock released in small flecks all along his chest and belly. One last drop clung at his cockhead and trembled there as he watched it.

"On me, dear sir," Lafayette begged with breathless abandon, and Washington granted him his request with a quiet grunt, a roll of his great shoulders, and three long streaks of white that painted him from belly to throat. Lafayette let out a shocked cry as the seed mingled with his own, dripping down his flanks and along his collarbone. "My god, it is so much," he murmured. He wondered how he would be able to return to camp in such a state. 

Lafayette attempted to sit up on his elbows to see the whole of the mess they'd made on him, but Washington bade him remain with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It is my doing," he said. "I will take care of it." He tucked his flagging cockstand into his breeches and put his uniform back to rights. 

Lafayette wanted to ask how the General proposed to clean him, but he soon received the answer as Washington bent over him once more, his tongue tracing wet paths over Lafayette. He lapped up their combined spending, swallowing each mouthful with a contented hum. Lafayette watched this with wide eyes, his hands trembling on the back of Washington's neck, and thought perhaps he could come off again at the sight. 

When he was done bathing Lafayette with his tongue like a cat with its kitten, Washington stretched out beside him and held his bare body close. Kisses laced with salt were traded back and forth. They lay in the protective circle of tall grasses, alone in their little flattened patch, and breathed until their lungs were satisfied and their hearts were steady once more. 

Washington pressed his nose into Lafayette's curls and said, "I cannot explain how precious you are to me. When you left my side, it was as if I'd lost a limb."

"Forgive me. If I had known you felt as I did—" Lafayette began. 

"Shush. All that matters now is this." He pressed his lips to Lafayette's brow. "Look at you," he murmured. "Soft with sleep. My beloved Lafayette, whom I love so much. I wish we could lie here until the stars appeared."

"As do I," Lafayette whispered, though he knew such a thing would be impossible. "The time, how long have we been gone?"

"Long enough to perhaps attract notice." Washington brushed his lips, apologetic, over Lafayette's closed eyes. "We should make our way back soon." 

Lafayette burrowed closer to his commander. "Hamilton will ask what we discussed," he sighed. "I will say we spoke about the battle, that you spread your cloak upon the ground for us to lie upon and we fell asleep in our weariness. That will explain such a long absence, I think." 

"Yes, but it does nothing for you, who still needs to rest," Washington said. "Will you come to my tent tonight? I would share my bed with you, if you wish it." His warm hand trailed up Lafayette's neck and found a curl to wrap around his finger. 

"You will find it very difficult to keep me apart from you," Lafayette said, and though he neglected his usual honorifics, he hoped his devotion showed in the way he kissed Washington, first on one cheek, then the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the bits of this story are historically accurate, many are not. Lafayette did receive a case of Washington's cologne, that really happened y'all. Like, I don't even care about what happens for the rest of the day. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Please leave a comment if you did. [Ji](http://crying-of-lot-37.tumblr.com/) was my cheerleader and indispensable fount of Lafayette knowledge, thank you Ji! I'm on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/) where I scream about Chris Jackson's thighs and Daveed's...everything.


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